


Going Solo

by Sselene



Series: Incubus!Stiles [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Oral Penetration, F/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hint of BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Vaginal Sex, aaaaaand I thinks that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sselene/pseuds/Sselene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has always loved sex, even when he was a virgin (which isn’t such a long time ago).<br/>And lately he can’t think about anything else.<br/>It goes without saying that time spent alone at home is automatically time spent jerking off at home. </p>
<p>Can be read as a stand alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Solo

**Author's Note:**

> I'm *so* sorry for the delay. I had a chapter in mind that I really didn't want to write... then I told myself 'uh... it's your story? you don't HAVE to write it if you don't want to?' so HERE I AM. With a different chapter. HAve fun!

Stiles has always loved sex, even when he was a virgin (which isn’t such a long time ago).

He loves watching porn, reading porn, listening to porn (thanks tumblr), he loves jerking off in the shower, fast and rough, and he loves jerking off in bed, slow, rutting against the mattress, dreaming of someone on top of him, or under him, or beside him, or…

He loves sex. He really does.

And lately he can’t think about anything else. It’s probably because it’s finally starting to _have_ sex (awesome sex with awesome people), and he’s not really complaining (not at all), but it’s a fact that he’s starting to get hard for the simplest things: someone presses against him while passing in a crowd, the waitress’s blouse reveals a bit of bra, the guy in front of him bites his lips; anything.

And maybe something’s changed in him since he gave that blowjob to Whittemore, because now people _flirt_ with him and seem to _notice_ him like they never did before, and everything’s awesome, really.

So, his already enhanced libido skyrockets even more because people smile at him and wink at him and just seem a lot interested in him.

It goes without saying that time spent alone at home is automatically time spent _jerking off_ at home.

Today is one of those days.

To be honest, he _has_ asked Scott to come to his house after school, but Scott needed to go to Deaton, so he’s alone, lying down in the middle of the bed, already half-hard in the jeans he’s still wearing, scratching lazily at his happy trail.

Scott loves his happy trail, he loves to kiss it and lick it and bite it. Stiles’s quite sure someday Scott will try to make him come just from that – and Stiles probably _will_ come.

(Stiles’s easy, he knows it and he loves it).

He follows the happy trail to the jeans, he moves his hand lower, pressing a single finger against the firm line of his cock, from the tip to the base, savouring the sensations given by that single touch. He goes still lower, following the jeans’ seam with his fingers, pressing it between his cheeks.

It’s maybe kind of narcissistic of him, but he likes the way the clothes outline his cock, when so tight. And he loves the way his balls are compressed just the right way.

He cups his dick roughly, giving it a couple of tugs the best he can through the clothes, his eyes fluttering finally close, the darkness behind his eyelids instantly filling up with images that lately cannot seem to leave him alone (not that he minds).

He can easily imagine Lydia being this rough, even though they haven’t gone beyond that oral in the school bathroom; or Danny, maybe, who has shown a certain Dom strike when they were talking about Scott. Or both, maybe. He can take them. He wants to.

It’s so easy to imagine them, to imagine himself _between_ them.

He’s lying down on Danny, his cock buried deep inside of him, stretching him almost as much as Scott can, one hand under his knee to open him up more, and the other softly posed around his throat, not pressing but still undoubtedly _there_ , his breath hot against his ear. Lydia’s sitting on him, riding his cock with circular movements of her hips, mindful of her pleasure more than his, her fingers almost like claws on her chest, and her breast barely covered by the waterfall of her strawberry blonde hairs, nipples perking through the curls.

Stiles palms himself through the clothes, he gasps when Danny arches up, moving in him with more forcefulness, It’s not the best position for a deep penetration but he’s surely trying his best. Lydia laughs, breathing against his lip, her breast pressed against his chest.

“Already coming, Stilinski?” She asks, and then she moves her head a little bit to bite his throat, hard, and Stiles moans and arches up, rutting against the air.

He has to stop, then, because his cock is starting to really hurt, straining like that against the zip.

He opens the button and strips as fast as he can, kicking the jeans away without a single care. His slips are tended, the elastic slightly pulled away from his skin, and a wet patch is already starting to form where the head of his cock stretches the cloth.

He presses a fingertip to the sticky stain and then brings it to his lips, licking it. It’s not the first time he’s tasted his own cum, or pre-cum, but he finds it almost lacking, when he does it by his own. It seems to assume a particular taste when it’s mixed with Scott’s, or is taken from Scott’s skin, or from Scott’s mouth, or… he’s already palming himself again without even noticing it, he’s already pushing two whole fingers between his lips, trying to pretend he can taste Scott on himself.

He’d be nice to have Scott here, now, to have his cock moving between his lips, pressing on his tongue, reaching his throat. And Scott’s fingers between his hairs, keeping him still to fuck his mouth better. Jackson would be also acceptable. He’s a dick, but he has a nice cock that can fill him up pretty good. Or maybe both.

He moans at the thought. He adds the ring finger and the little finger between his lips, sucking on them and licking them, pressing his tongue against the fingertips. It’s not as satisfying as what he imagines would be having two cock in his mouth, stretching his lips, maybe even making his jaw ache; but it’s easy enough to pretend it is. He can almost feel them, Jackson’s curved cock and Scott’s straighter one moving in tandem in him, Scott’s hand on his throat, feeling the movements, following with his thumb his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Danny’s between his legs, this time, keeping them wide open so that he can move deeper and deeper, his cock burning hot inside of him, his fingers leaving slight bruises on his skin.

“Fuck,” he gurgles around his left hand, the right one closed around his cock, that’s so hard it’s almost _hurting_.

When he removes them, his fingers are wet with spit from the tips to the knuckles, his lips are surely glistening, and drool is dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His breath is laboured and he can _feel_ the heath of his flushed face.

He thinks about sending a selfie to Scott, then he dismisses the thought, then he dismisses his dismissing. He forces himself to let his dick go for the time it takes to grab his phone, luckily near enough he doesn’t really have to move, he points the camera at him as best as he can, and he swallow again the four whole fingers of his left hand before taking the photo.

He has never found himself hot, to be honest, but he totally _is_. He doesn’t even hesitate before sending it to Scott, because he’s sure he’ll appreciate it.

He doesn’t want to let the smartphone go, so he moves his left hand inside his slip, circling his hole with his spit-slicked fingers. He doesn’t need lube to be able to penetrate himself, but it’s even easier when they’re wet of drool; he presses two fingers against himself and they slip inside almost on they own volition, making him gasp and then moan. A third fingers moves inside easily enough, and he’s almost thinking about trying inserting the little finger too, he surely wants to, but his phone dings in that exact moment.

_’You’re so beautiful Stiles’_ , is Scott’s answer to his photo. And then there’s a second message: _’You’d be even hotter without your shirt’_.

It’s funny that Stiles hasn’t even noticed he still has his shirt on. For a moment he caresses the idea of keeping it. He has three fingers, almost four, buried inside of himself; his underwear, still on, is stretched on his cock and wet with pre-cum; and his breath his laboured and his body trembling because of the pleasure. He could easily come in just a couple of moments more. But he’s not in a hurry, and it _would_ be kind of nice to take his shirt off.

He takes a deep breathe, and he uses all of his will to move his fingers away from himself. He cannot stop a suffering moan at feeling himself so suddenly empty. He has to grab his leg and press the fingers in his muscles to convince himself not to touch himself and take himself to the climax. He breathes with his mouth wide open, trying to calm his breath and his heartbeat. His cock is throbbing and twitching, and he’s never been more acutely aware of the pre-cum dripping to his skin, sticking to his happy trail.

He doesn’t exactly know how much time passes before he feels in control enough to move. He sits up, his cock bobbing between the underwear and his belly, and that simple stimulation is enough to take away his breath.

“I have to come so bad…” he murmurs to himself, pleading even though there’s no one to fulfil his need.

The shirt is not the first thing that comes off, though. He’s aching way too bad, his tight boxers are becoming way too constricting. He hooks one trembling finger in the elastic, moving it slowly out of the way, freeing his cock inch by inch, till he can stop it just under his balls. It would be better to just take them off, but he cannot force himself to stand up. Finally he takes care of the shirt. It’s a simple movement, something he has done his whole life – he _knows_ how to take off a shirt, really. But then he finds himself with the shirt pooled around his forearms and a thought strikes him so sudden and so powerful he almost comes in that exact moment.

He moves the shirt towards the wrists, then he moves the right hand in circles, twisting it till it cannot move anymore, binding himself.

It’s not really effective at tying him, not like a pair of handcuffs could be, but it still gives him a thrill he really wants to explore – after coming. It’s a pity he cannot take a photo for Scott like this, but he doesn’t care way too much in this moment. There’ll surely be the chance to show him in person.

He wonders if Scott would like it, to tie him up. He probably would, he has the habit to stop his hands on the mattress when they’re having sex.

“Fuck, Scott…”

He lays down again, this time on his stomach. His bounded hands are trapped under his chest, fingers clawing the sheets, and his cock is pressed between his body and the mattress, leaving long wet stripes every time he moves. And there’s Scott weight on top of him, his skin so hot against Stiles’s own, his mouth kissing and biting and tasting anything he can find, his voice murmuring sweet nothing like he uses to. Stiles’s panting and moaning his name, mouthing against the covers, jerking his hips in uncoordinated and uncontrolled movements he doesn’t even really notice. He can almost _feel_ Scott’s cock between his cheeks, pressing against his hole, that opens up for him like it always does, filling him up, moving in him, as deep as he can.

“Scott… Scott… Fuck, Scott…”

He can _feel_ the climax building in his stomach, he’s trembling, his balls are aching, his cock is twitching. He doesn’t need a lot more, but there’s something trying to distract him.

There’s a music trying to reach him through the haze of the pleasure, notes he recognises as the tone he set for Derek – and suddenly Derek’s _there_ , sitting in Stiles’s computer chair, no, slouching in Stiles’s computer chair, his legs wide open so that Stiles can easily see the bulge in his jeans, even though it doesn’t look like Derek wants to do something about it. He’s probably waiting for Scott to finish up with him so that he can take his turn.

Not that he wouldn’t love to have them both at the same time, to have Scott’s cock buried deep inside of him and Derek’s cock pushing trough his lips until Stiles’s nose is pressed in his pubic curls. It would probably drive Stiles crazy, to have Scott sweet words mixing with Derek’s grunts, to be bounded and blocked between the two werewolves, to look upwards and crossing Derek’s red eyes while Scott bites his shoulder. To be filled by his brother’s semen while his Alpha cums in his mouth, taking his cock out at the last moment to be able to both fill Stiles’s mouth and cover his lips in white.

And then Scott would turn his face and would lick his lips clean and would kiss him, all of the tastes mixing together, creating something unique.

Stiles grips the sheets tighter, bends one leg while the foot of the other is pointed in the mattress, moans so loud is almost a scream. His body jerks once, twice, trembling from head to toes; and then the climax washes over him like a tidal wave, his vision whites out, his breath itches and breaks in his throat.

It’s one of the greatest orgasms of his life, like the size of the wet spot that’s spreading under him can attest, and for a long while he stays still, with his eyes closed, trying to regain some kind of control on his breathing and his heartbeat, his body still shaken by shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the covers.

It’s hard to move, still bounded with the shirt and still mollified by the orgasm, but he still searches for the phone he left somewhere, finding it easily enough. He takes a photo and sends it to Scott without even looking at it.

The answer comes not long after – at least, it doesn’t seem like a long time has passed.

_’You look wrecked’_ Scott says.

_’You’re so hot’_

_’I’d love to be there with you’_

_‘I’d eat you whole’_

_’Fuck Stiles’_

Stiles’s almost asleep, but he still has the strength to send a message: _’Come see me when you’ve finished?_

_’Sure’_

Maybe he can wait for Scott already tied up, he thinks. And even though he just came, his cock twitches at the idea.


End file.
